


daylight

by chiyoki



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-01 16:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17247698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiyoki/pseuds/chiyoki
Summary: an infamous criminal and a cop walk into a bar. surprisingly, it goes rather well. a little too well.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> boy i haven't written anything hetalia-related in ages. is the fandom even alive still. oh well. here's a lil thing.  
> might carry on updating. hope y'all enjoy.  
> \- chi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edited the first chapter a bit. second one'll be up tomorrow.

treacherous smoke drifted through the air, seeping through keyholes and under the cracks of doors: winter’s icy touch plagued every breathing creature, its striking touch the work of _death_ itself: arthur opted to keep inside, showered by the warmth and glow of his little alleyway pub. a low murmur of evening chatter made for relaxing background noise (which was a nice change from the buzzing excitement of drunkards and such he usually got) as arthur calmly collected away the array of glasses, some still filled to the brim with its creamy froth still poking out the edges, and others whose glass shone as if they’d never been used.

“arthur! another round! and how about you join us, eh buddy?” 

he merely smirked as he set their drinks down, and ushered off back to the bar to collect more orders: he was still on duty, after all. as dull as it was, especially compared to his ‘proper’ job, it was one he’d have to put up with for a while longer. arthur spent the rest of his night transfixed in his thoughts, ignoring the slowly dying hums of the men, until it was only the faint whisper of the harsh wind outside.

he leant against the bar, gazing upon the gleaming, glowing glass bottles of various vodkas and wines and beers, each holding a fine, rich taste. arthur saved them for special occasions, but hey, did a sip of alcohol ever hurt anyone? cautiously, he reached up towards a bottle, its luminous red bloom reflecting the warm lights; and quickly grabbed it off its shelf. 

“bartender! over here!”

a slight stabbing pain shot through his hand as he felt the blood flow: glass fragments pierced his skin, yet bit like a beast. as arthur looked upon the floor, his bottle had crashed to the ground, and was in several pieces. he was far too tired for this.

“here- let me help you up!”

that obnoxiously loud voice, _again_. he took the unfamiliar hand and pulled himself up, brushing the dust off his legs and knees. brilliant, vivid eyes met his own as they lit up with the man’s cheerful smile. for a man that now owed him at least £500, he sure looked happy, arthur thought. he only managed to spit out a quick _“bastard”_ as he shoved past him, pulling himself to the sink.

after sorting himself and the floor out, arthur finally settled back down behind the bar, once again face to face with the blonde man. he bore a sheepish smile, and seemed to shrink a bit into his seat as arthur muttered under his breath something about coming in quieter next time.

before arthur even had a chance to ask, the man was asking for his ‘finest drink’, to which he began to take out the bottle of gin he had in the back cupboard, but heard a rather loud exclamation of “a bourbon!” arthur merely snorted, and poured him the rather vile, american drink.

“by the way – name’s alfred!”

“…arthur.”

-

arthur wasn’t particularly used to company, at least not at the bar: he’d be lucky to get a ‘thank you’ out of a customer, let alone a conversation. alfred had insisted he stay and talk, especially since they were the only ones there that night.

 “and _then_ I told him not to touch my shit, y’know, it was locked for a reason. and y’know what he went and did?”  
  
“I wonder,” replied arthur, nonchalantly.

“he _took_ it! that bastard!”

arthur didn’t even know what the item was. 

their conversations carried on like this for a few hours, with alfred loudly exclaiming some sort of ‘rad’ _thing_ that had happened, and arthur making sarcastic remarks in between. eventually, as the sun had drifted away, and the moon was aglow, alfred stood up from his seat, and with the same bubbling energy, waved arthur a goodnight and bounced out the pub. 

"...that git drank all my bourbon."


	2. Chapter 2

as the days slowly passed, arthur began to see the lively man more often, and as the bleeding sun would slowly sink, he began to find himself staring at the clock, or aimlessly washing the same glass over and over in anticipation. no, he was not looking forward to their daily meet, hours of listening to the arrogant, troublesome american. 

and yet, once again, arthur found himself staring at pub’s doors, twitching slightly, looking back to the clock once again. he’s late, arthur thought to himself, then quickly spat out a “good; I enjoy the silenc-”

“arthur?” a voice murmured, then quickly followed by a loud, blaring voice asking for another bourbon.

“will you ever go a day without drinking that horrid stuff?” arthur asked, turning around to face him. he was answered only with a goofy, obnoxious grin that heated his cheeks and quickly turned around, furiously grabbing a bottle.

as per usual, after setting alfred’s drink down, he grabbed his own bottle and sat opposite him behind the bar. he soon began buzzing on about his day (which was a lot duller than he made it out to be), then suddenly switching to a lengthy conversation about his dog named tony, who seemed to be a lot like alfred. arthur merely replied in grunts or nods, scarcely mentioning his own life or stories, though the american didn’t seem to mind all that much. 

as the night grew closer, a warm, comforting glow spread through the room, delightfully tinting the dull, colourless wood a vivid golden. arthur glanced at alfred sitting opposite to him, who had gone rather quiet, and enjoyed the relaxing silence for a moment, listening to their steady breaths and his own heartbeat.

“what on earth are you grinning about, you git?”  
“well, you’re cute when you smile like that.”

arthur caught his smile and merely scowled at him, yet felt his breath caught as alfred heartily laughed.

-

quietly, alfred trod into the little alleyway pub, eager to somewhat jump scare the bitter brit: he’d been coming and going for almost a week now, and had only slightly managed to crack a smile out of him, let alone a laugh. and this, for sure, would make him laugh. however, as alfred looked upon the room, there was no one behind the bar, or even in the surrounding tables (which he had expected, upon arriving slightly earlier than usual in excitement).

placing his bag down upon one of the stools, he scanned every far corner and cupboard, even checking under tables, peering into the dim, dingy little wine cellar, calling out arthur’s name only to be answered by his own echoes. hesitantly stepping in, alfred clutched onto the stair’s rail, firmly holding his gun, before hearing the sharp ‘crack!’ of the old, worn wood and tearing out the room, trembling slightly. 

after regaining his breath, alfred slumped down into an empty chair, coming to the conclusion that arthur had been kidnapped and was currently terrified, and maybe being murdered. he put his head in his hands, his thoughts wildly deciding what to do, until he noticed a door, slightly ajar, in front of him. a warm, orange glow seeped out from the room, with the potent smell of ink and dust and smoke. cautiously, he stepped towards the door, opening it slightly to enter.

although it was a neat little place, stacks and stacks of cream paper had been littered about the place, hastily put atop musty books (which were quite abundant, too) and upon those, flickering, feeble candles that were only just visible. a desk had been placed in the corner, which, unlike the rest of the room, was completely clear and clean except for a rusted, small key, which must’ve belonged to the open door. on the wall beside it, a large and rather complicated notice board had been put up: what seemed like thousands of tiny tacks had been pushed in, connected with thin red string and various photos, though they were rather blurry and unclear. it reminded him of his own work, where he spent his days staring at boards similar to these. 

as he tried to make sense of the smudged, curly handwriting, a neatly drawn, distinct photo caught his eye. a stern man was looking back at him with sharp, almost haunting eyes, and his unkempt hair slightly fell over his face. painted across his face were a few fierce scars, namely one that cut through his eye. below, ‘wanted’ had been written in bold, large letters, and a rather high price beneath.

alfred immediately recognised the face, and felt every instinct in his body to turn back, the butterflies in his stomach lively and animated: arthur, the man whom he had spoken with for so many nights, whose little fears and secrets he would sometimes speak of, when the sun was low and they were only for him and the night to hear of. yet he felt a sorrow rise in his chest, fill his lungs to the brim, until he stood there, motionless.


End file.
